Affluent Anarchy
by Lone.L
Summary: Postseries. The path of life and the path of fate are intertwined, always together, leading one where they intend one to follow. The purpose of the journey is to learn to appreciate the most important facet of such an endeavor: that of affluence.
1. Prologue

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**豊かな無秩序 ****  
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**Affluent Anarchy** **/ Intro: Prologue  
**

* * *

"Hey, you! Get back here!" 

"Fat chance!"

Chance is the most befitting word to use, in this instance. It is by pure chance that events transpired as they have; that months passed as they did; that life has continued onward as it has.

The sound of steel-bottomed geta clapping harshly against a street echoes throughout Fukui, the capital of Echizen province. People going about their daily business strafe to the side, chattering amongst themselves while they move close to walls, making way for a cart owner as he strains himself to run. It is no use; the theif is long gone, taking several crabs and the entire day's profit with him.

In the wake of the criminal's dust, the owner finally stops, supporting himself by placing his hands on his knees and bending over. Huffing, he looks at the crowds lined up along the side of the street and points rabidly, gasping out, "Somebody stop that man!"

None feel like attempting such an endeavor, for few feel that they even can, so the crowd disperses, leaving the owner lost, confused and penniless in the street.

—§∞§∞∞∞∞§∞§—

The road has flattened out, transitioning from stone-paved to simple dirt, as it leads through a residential area and towards Fukui's north end. The sound of the peculiar geta has become a soft scraping. Dirt is kicked into the air, mingling with the wind as it blows by on its path eastward. The sun shines down on the criminal as he comes to a rough, sudden stop.

Wild black hair flutters; a large, baggy red garment covering his upper extremities flaps as he slides to a resting state. Sharp, cunning, unforgiving dark eyes flash down and then to the side, honing in on the point of interest.

"—don't really know why he does it. There's no reason to kill them."

"Huh?"

The theif's interest has been piqued. The subjects in conversation have unwittingly thrust themselves into a situation far beyond their control.

"What's the matter, sir?" one asks.

The theif tilts his head and grins. "What's that you guys were just talking about?"

The other turns and leans in.

"You mean you haven't heard?"

"Heard? About what?"

"There's a ruthless assassin walking the streets these days, in the next town over," the man whispers, doing his best to be secretive, "People here are worried that he'll eventually end up here, especially since Fukui is so important in the economy and there are a lot of people around."

The theif scratches his head absentmindedly, a look of confusion on his face. "What's wrong with an assassin doin' his job?"

"That's just it," the second man jumps in, "He's not. This assassin travels from place to place committing murders without provocation, taking jobs for free and killing people he has no need to."

The criminal grins, an aloof smirk full of enthusiasm.

"Wow, this guy sure sounds like a real badass."

The other two men glance at each other, caught off guard by their idiosyncratic guest. They each look to the side, glancing around while thinking of an appropriate response to such an odd statement.

"Yeah, I guess he must be," one finally offers.

"Where could I find him?" The criminal can not contain the eagerness in his voice now.

"Uh, I don't really—" one man begins. He is suddenly grabbed by the collar and yanked forward viciously.

"Hey!" the theif shouts, "I didn't ask what you thought, I asked where to find him!"

"Uhh, uh, probably the town east of here. Check there," the man responds, causing the guest to finally release him.

"See now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

The other man, standing off to the side, looks at the criminal timidly. "It's foolish to go out of one's way to cross paths with such a madman, though."

Their guest simply smiles, tapping his back, across which a nicely polished scabbard is strapped. A shiny hilt protrudes from the top, encrusted with pearls that have obviously come from the sea, leading down to an undoubtedly sharp blade hidden within the container. With that same grin, he says to the two conversationers, "Don't worry about that. I got it covered."

—§∞§∞∞∞∞§∞§—

The dust is finally settling in the city of Fukui, with nearly all of the residents none the wiser in regards to the world-changing event that has transpired there today. People move about with their lives, still carrying out their business on the streets. Dusk is setting over Japan, and children are being tucked into beds. The man who was robbed sits miserably at his cart, head in his chin, making meager attempts to peddle his foods to the passers-by. The two men who spoke to the odd guest are still conversing, walking slowly down the main road before both will take their separate ways home.

Few know what truly happened today—that today, the world has been changed once again.

The vagrant Mugen is back on the road.

プロローグ

つづけ

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**A/N: **This fic has been long-awaited—by me—and I worked really hard to make sure I had all of the pieces in place before beginning it. I'm glad to say that with this prologue, I think I've begun one of my most ambitious projects ever, and I'm really excited, because I think I've got the groundwork for something special here as well as because I just love Champloo. I hope there will be a few readers out there who will enjoy scanning this fic and reviewing, and I hope that everyone enjoys it. This is just a prologue, so don't take too many indications of what the fic will be from it, but read and enjoy nonetheless. 

I look forward to it.

So please review. And stick with me. Hopefully this fic will be long enough to satisfy everyone's appetites.

**LL**


	2. Chance of Circumstance

Don't forget to review—opinion is important this early in the story. Also, in order to view some things in this story, such as titles and page-breakers, one must make sure one's internet browser can read all characters, such as Japanese Kanji **序**, Hiragana **ち**, and ASCII characters like ∞ or √.

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**豊かな無秩序 **

**Affluent Anarchy / Track 1: Chance of Circumstance**

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Along the shoulder of a deserted dirt path east of Fukui, a man rests on a rather plain bench that borders the dense forest. In appearance, he is simple, unassuming, overwhelmingly regular, having light brown hair that is tied into a high ponytail behind him and leaves several short bangs draped over his forehead. His build is unspectacular, as is his gi, a plain white kimono contrasted by a black hakama, which looks oddly like the aikidogis of local dojos. The daishō that any self-respecting samurai carries hangs limply from the left side of his hakama, pairing a katana and wakizashi that are equally bland in appearance. The man's eyes are closed, shielded within a slowly-aging face that gives the appearance of a middle-aged man. As he quietly rests, he is drinking a cup of hot tea. 

He slowly opens his eyes to watch the steam rising from the tea disappear into the winter wind, revealing dark eyes lacking an edge, seeming slightly dulled.

Silence abounds along the path. Winter has fallen on Japan, and as a result, there are now few animals to be seen. A thin mist blankets the area; a light, biting gust kicks up again, dislodging rocks and clumps of dirt from the road and rolling them along. The trees behind the bench dip and sway with the breeze as their branches are gently buffeted. Above, a clouded sky casts a dim light downward.

The man's eyes quickly flit to the side as the sound of rocks crackling underfoot carries. Someone is approaching.

The visitor calmly strolls forward with an easy demeanor, gazing appreciatively at the forest. He inhales the brisk air deeply, then sighs approvingly, as the man resting on the bench watches with interest. The dull lifelessness in his eyes is gradually fading out, replaced instead with an eager shine. The visitor continues to approach, for all intents and purposes unaware of the other man seated ten feet away. As he moves closer, the man has time to notice the swords dangling from his waist.

The visitor draws even with the man, who stands and silently draws his sword, dispatching the other with three quick strikes. The corpse falls to the ground, unaware even in death of what has just happened.

The man calmly finishes his tea, wipes his mouth and tosses the cup at the rapidly bleeding body. He uses the grass nearby to clean the blood from his blade. The dull, faded look in his eyes returns as he turns and resumes the dead samurai's journey down the path, eventually disappearing into the mist.

—§∞§∞∞∞∞§∞§—

Traveling through a foggy mist, Mugen angrily fights his way through the cold on the path to the next town. His geta scrape lazily against the rocky road as his arms dangle, devoid of energy.

"This was a stupid idea," he mumbles, straining his eyes to see what lies ahead. A rounded shape stamps its sillhouette against the fog; noticing this, Mugen, suddenly filled with energy once again, stands up further and jogs to the site of the shape, curious as to what awaits him. As he stops next to it, a putrid smell permeates the air. There is a splash as his foot lands directly in a pool of blood.

It's unmistakeable. "Yep," Mugen sarcastically announces to himself, "I've got a dead guy on my hands."

He takes a step back and examines the body quietly, thinking, until he decides that it really has nothing to do with him and turns to leave. As he does, a realization finally strikes him.

"Wait a sec!" he exclaims, turning, "This dude was killed! It has to be the killer!"

The body is still bleeding, meaning that he cannot have been dead for long. Realizing this, Mugen slaps himself and looks around.

"Shit, I just missed him!"

With no time to waste, he quickly dashes off after the killer, wild hair flying.

—§∞§∞∞∞∞§∞§—**  
**

**入ってはいけない** proclaims the sign outside the door, _haitte ha ike nai_, meaning **Do Not Enter**. Word of the killing by the forest earlier in the day has reached the capital. Sounds of angry, heated conversation trail from inside a room in Fukui, the head of the provincial government.

"This is bullshit! Why hasn't someone caught him yet!"

"What are we going to do?"

"He just gets closer with every kill!"

"What are our police even doing?"

Amidst the shouts and yells echoing throughout the room, a fist slams down hard on the table, bringing attention to the forefront of the room. Silence sets in momentarily, before the one who slammed his fist starts yelling as well, and the entire debacle begins again. The two men standing guard outside of the meeting lean casually against the wall, both looking exhausted.

"Do you have any idea what they're going on about?" one asks.

"Yeah, they're talking about that killer east of here. It's pretty common for our government not to care about the small towns around here, but they're worried that he'll eventually turn up here in Fukui, seeing as how the trail of his victims is slowly moving westward."

"What do you think the chances are?"

"Pretty good, I think. It doesn't seem like he's really after anything. He's just a madman out killing people, so there's no reason he wouldn't come this way eventually."

"I guess I can see why they're so worried, then."

"Yeah, but nobody can make any headway on how they should go about at least finding out who he is. It's almost like they're waiting for someone to just get lucky and take him down."

The one who had asked the question sighs deeply, closing his eyes. "Either way, we're just guards, so there's no point in us caring."

The din inside the room suddenly comes to a stop. Several minutes later, the doors finally swing open, and many tired-looking government heads file out. As they leave, the other guard asks one of the last to step outside, "Did you come up with a solution?"

The man wearily shakes his head. "We're going to try again tomorrow."

After they are gone and well out of earshot, the first guard looks down at the capital and shrugs. "Yeah, they're definitely hoping they'll just get lucky."

—§∞§∞∞∞∞§∞§—

Inside the forest adjacent to a deserted dirt path east of Fukui, a man rests against an old, beaten up tree that borders a small clearing. In appearance, he is simple, unassuming, overwhelmingly regular, having light brown hair that is tied into a high ponytail behind him and leaves several short bangs draped over his forehead. His build is unspectacular, as is his gi, a plain white kimono contrasted by a black hakama, which looks oddly like the aikidogis of local dojos. The daishō that any self-respecting samurai carries hangs limply from the left side of his hakama, pairing a katana and wakizashi that are equally bland in appearance. The man's eyes are closed, shielded within a slowly-aging face that gives the appearance of a middle-aged man.

He slowly opens his eyes to watch the branches of nearby trees sway in the winter wind, revealing dark eyes that gleam with anticipation.

Twenty feet away, twigs crunch as an oblivious traveler makes their way through the forest. The killer watches him move with fascination, gauging his interest. He knows that it is better not to waste his time killing them unless they are of importance, so he instead turns his thoughts to the one he knows is trailing him. His senses are too good not to pick up the small wind above him even when the trees don't sway, or to hear the sound of geta against bark. He mentally chides his follower.

When his eyes flick towards the traveler once again, he is shocked to see that he did not notice the katana and wakizashi at his side. This traveler is a samurai. Even more eager now, he sidesteps to the left and then quickly tiptoes forward, already smelling the kill.

Above him, Mugen watches warily from the branches of a tall tree, judging that it is safe to proceed forward.

The killer approaches rapidly until he is a mere sword's width away from the turned back of the traveler. He leans his back against the tree separating them and silently removes his katana from its sheath. Inhaling deeply and measuring his time, he pauses for five seconds and then turns, swinging swiftly at the man. The sword embeds itself cleanly. The killer triumphantly moves around the tree and pulls to remove the sword before he realizes that the only thing the blade cut was the bark. Angrily, he looks to the side, at the traveler that so easily dodged his strike.

The traveler draws his own sword and steps forward, planting his front foot and swinging, then spinning to the side to avoid a downward slash and throwing his wrist forward. The swing successfully cuts into the killer's left side, eliciting a cry of pain.

Mugen, suddenly realizing that there is a battle going on below, frantically searches for a lower branch, dropping from level to level until he hits the ground with a soft thud. Yanking his sword from its scabbard, he lowers it and holds the point out in front of him, charging forward.

The killer, bleeding profusely, takes a sideways hack and a diagonal slash, both of which are easily parried by his prey. Finally, he raises his katana above his head, aiming for a powerful downward strike. In perfect rhythm, the traveler draws his wakizashi and crosses its blade with his katana's, catching his attacker's sword in the V between them. Wasting no time, he twists his wrists and flicks the smaller blade, wresting the sword from the killer's hands and tossing it behind him with a single expertly performed move. He then slashes across from the left shoulder to the right hip, raises the blade and runs his attacker through.

Mugen arrives just in time to see blood sprayed as the katana is removed and wiped on a white cloth. Feeling indignant, he thinks to himself, _it's too dim in here to make out this guy's face, but he just killed the badass I was tracking!_

Without warning, Mugen leaps forward and slashes. Swords clang as the other man blocks. Tossed backwards, Mugen pushes off from the trunk of a tree and somersaults in midair, bringing his blade down. He is once again masterfully repelled. Landing, he swerves and chops at his opponent's ankles, only to swing at air. The situation is beginning to seem oddly familiar.

Both combatants take a step back to catch their breath.

"Bastard," Mugen calls out, seeing the stranger tense up oddly at his voice, "I was gonna kill 'im."

The traveler lowers his blade and pauses for a moment. There is quiet before he ventures, "...Mugen?"

"Huh?"

Mystified, Mugen leans forward and squints, barely making out square glasses perched pristinely on the nose of his opponent. Gazing at the blue kimono, diamond pattern sublimely standing out, realization hitting him, he stands up and chuckles, sharp eyes and careless grin in full force.

"Jin."

He nods. "Good to see you again."

情況のチャンス

つづけ

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**A/N: **Felt good writing this one. I'm not really sure yet about the lengths of all of the tracks, but this first one is almost right at 2,000 words. Sorry if that's too short. Track 2 should be longer, tho' I don't know by how much. There's a lot I have planned for this story, so stick with it. 

Please review if you can. I want to know what you all think.

**LL**


	3. Revival's Remembrance

If you have the _Music Record Katana_ Champloo soundtrack, listen to either "Night Out" or "World Without Words," then "Sneak Chamber" or "Dry" during the battle scene. It's amazing how much it enhances the feel of the story, especially if you're reading and seeing what's happening in your mind's eye as you read, so I totally recommend it.

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**豊かな無秩序 **

**Affluent Anarchy / Track 2: Revival's Remembrance**

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Taro no In—タロイモのイン—sits on the west side of Fukui, a small, family-owned restaurant and inn named after its renowned taro tempura. Taro potatoes, a specialty in the region, are regularly harvested this time of year; travelers and city residents alike make it a priority to eat at least one meal at the humble establishment before moving on with their lives. The potatoes are harvested, then bundled and stored in the back room until the season comes. At once, the menus are marked with two options, one for tempura with raw potatos, the other with boiled. At once, the renowned chefs set to work, setting aside the amounts they need raw and tossing the rest into pots to boil. Once the process of cooking them has been completed, they are cautiously lowered into the batter to be completely coated before being removed and set to rest to allow for the coating to dry. The result is a delicious mixture of food that welcomes any it is set before to ravenously tear into the masterpiece, enjoying, if but for one night, true culinary perfection. 

Japan is nicely settling into winter. A thin mist blankets the region all around, secluding areas more than one hundred feet from one's eyes translucently from view. A cold lingers, just cool enough to be uncomfortable yet just warm enough to remain above chilling, biting.

The atmosphere inside the inn is relatively relaxing. A quiet presides; for an unspoken reason, all conversation is conducted in low tones, or, in many cases, in whispers. There is no bar; in large part, no action at all. Most visitors are here simply to get a taste of the tempura, and as such, they calmly rest at their dimly lit tables, absorbing the peaceful air around them as they eat. A large crowd litters the restaurant room, conversing in that same quiet amongst themselves. In the back corner, where light is especially dim and sound is as low as can be, sits a single occupied table with room for two people.

"This ish actually shome gud shtuff," a loud, uncontained voice announces, to no reply.

Jin looks around abashedly, attempting to confirm the fact that no one is paying attention to his racuous companion. His fears allayed at the general ignorance of the criminal's behavior, he settles slightly easier into his chair. The same reserved, calm, pensive look is permanently etched on his thin face as he looks at Mugen with a smirk.

"So, what are you doing here, especially in winter?"

The criminal shrugs absentmindedly, still stuffing himself. "S'not like I can go farther south for the winter. The any closer to the Ryukyus I get, people will start recognizin' me. I was jus' wandering around 'til I heard about that guy. Sounded like a great chance to get a real workout, but before I could see if he was all that you killed 'im," he finishes sarcastically, his sharp eyes snapping up from his meal to glance at Jin. He grins crookedly.

Displaying annoyance, the quiet ronin turns his gaze to the side, calmly stating, "He attacked me. I had no choice but to end his life."

"Yeah, whatever."

A silence finally falls upon the table. Both look around quizzically, feeling awkward. It is becoming painfully obvious that in the time away, neither has changed much. Reserved chatter drifts through the air in the crowded room. Becoming quite restless himself, Mugen doubles in ferocity, initiating a relentless attack on the tempura; Jin takes an opportunity to sip his tea, enjoying the taste of the thin liquid running across his lips, rushing down his throat. Mugen, nearly finished, finally looks up and points brashly with his chopsticks.

"An' you?"

Jin's eyes flit to the side. "I'm just traveling. There's really nothing else."

Mugen groans. "Yeah, I figgered."

There were..." slight hesitation clouds his response. "...some respects I felt it best to pay, and some things it felt right to settle," he murmurs, his expression changing only slightly. Satisfied, Mugen recuses himself from the topic.

As he thinks back on the assassin he killed, memories swimming by his sharp mind in succession, information swirling, Jin's eyes crack open as a realization hits him. He laughs under his breath, folding his arms.

"Eh?" Mugen questions, tilting his head quizzically as he notices the shift in the samurai's behavior. 

"That killer...I recognized him," Jin says calmly.

"Wha' ya mean?"

"I faced him before..." Jin recalls, "It was...when Umanosuke hired him during the one-night mushroom incident. Yes, he was the old man that I fought in the forest. He told me before he left that we would meet again...but I wasn't aware that it would be like that. He told me that there was no point in killing someone if he was not going to make any money from it. I wonder what changed."

The effect of the discovery is lost on Mugen, so after several seconds of silent pause, he simply shrugs in a congratulatory manner and turns back to his tempura, polishing off the bowl with ease. Now with two free hands and no activity to occupy him on the side, his interest in conversation suddenly veers to the side. Once or twice, he almost fumbles himself into mentioning the single topic occupying his mind, but, able to catch himself, it remains unsaid.

Unable in all facets to cope with the need to express his thoughts and the competing desire to avoid referencing the past, the Ryukan finally decides to deal with the situation the best way he has ever known how.

"'Ey," he yells with a flamboyant wave, "Another serving of the tempura over here!"

—§∞§∞∞∞∞§∞§—

In a dark back room in the same establishment, a Sōtatsuª painting hangs against wall decorated by elegant shadows. The art is flanked by traditional paper lamps and gazes back towards the doorway, which is shaded by a black curtain, blocking out the light and curious eyes from the main room of the restaurant. The room is located directly below the caretaker's office, which stands on the second floor, permitting for few to know about it. Voices trail from the room's corner, where a screen made of shoji panels has been erected to preserve complete privacy. Whispered voices trail from behind the tall screen, filtering out into the otherwise silent darkness of the hidden room.

"You're sure it's them?"

"Oh, there's no doubt about it."

"Admittedly, they are quite distinguishable, but we must be sure that it's them. I would very much like to avoid trouble in this establishment."

"I'm positive that it was them. I would recognize them anywhere."

"But if you are wrong, imagine how foolish we would look. Not to mention that we would disturb the many people having their meals here. I've already told you that do not wish to cause trouble."

"All I can tell you is that I'm almost positive that it was them."

Silence. The tapping of geta on the floor precedes the extinguishing of the lamps, casting the secret room from a dim glow to complete darkness. A strong voice echoes throughout the small chamber.

"...Alright. Alright, let's go take care of this, then."

—§∞§∞∞∞∞§∞§—

Large bit by large bit that most humans could not cram into their mouths, the contents of of the bowl of tempura rapidly vanish. The empty container clangs loudly on the wooden table as Mugen carelessly tosses it aside, at last leaning back and tapping his belly, indicating that he has filled himself to the brim. He groans with satisfaction, dropping his chopsticks and grinning contentedly in Jin's direction. For his part, the quiet samurai sits with his eyes closed, rather thankful that the restaurant's customers are too engaged in their own affairs or too laid-back to care about his companion's manners.

"Damn, 'at wash good," Mugen says light-headedly.

"Please choose to either eat or chew," Jin replies from his seat, his arms still folded, head tilted down and eyes closed, never moving a single muscle. The déjá vú and nostalgic qualities of the statement slam into the two men at the same time, causing Mugen to nearly snort the food he is still chewing while Jin stiffens and cracks his eyes open.

Mugen laughs. "You 'aven't changed, not one bit."

Jin meets his smile. "Neither have you, though I don't expect you ever will. Honestly, though, it has only been one year since we parted ways."

"Yeah," Mugen says in a lazy tone, retrieving and beginning to play with one of the chopsticks, "Nuthin' much has changed at all, really. I dunno if it ever can, at least for people like us."

Both swordsmen lapse into silence, each falling into their own thoughts. A thick feeling still hangs in the air as the dim lights dangle from above and the warmth of the restaurant room valiantly holds its ground against the onrush of cold from outside. A unitary peace presides. Jin slightly raises a hand, waiting until a server glancing about the room notices and makes his way over to their table. Sweeping a hand over the dishes lying before him, indicating Mugen, Jin states that they are ready to pay. The server nods and departs, promising to have their total when he returns. Mugen pulls himself into a slightly straighter sitting position, eyeing the samurai across from him curiously.

"It'll probably come out to about four shuº," Jin notes duly, glancing at Mugen's small pile of empty dishes. Mugen holds a hand up to the light to inspect it with mild interest, gazing, aloof, upwards.

"How d'ya figure that?"

Finding it easily obvious that the inquiry was an obligatory reply and held no true intrigue, Jin did not waste time in answering, instead gazing to the side in an attempt to locate the man with the tab.

"I s'pose you've changed a little," Mugen says with an airy voice, still looking upwards.

"How so?"

"Well," he says with a comical smile, "I can't ever think of a time when you'd agree to pay half the bill, especially when all you got was tea."

Without hesitation, Jin fired back. "Well, before, we were ridiculously poor. I can afford it now. In addition, that is simply what friends do."

_"You...are my very first friends..."_

Mugen's eyes return to level, widening slightly. He slowly processes with an empty gaze. His bravado takes over, causing him to then dismiss it in his usual fashion.

"Yeah, sure."

Both samurai, sharp as they are, recuse themselves from all action, narrowing their eyes and glancing to the side with sharp glares as footsteps approach their table. They are of a different kind than the server's: loud, brash, firm. Sounding more like stomps than steps, they draw nearer for several moments until the feet in question pull up in front of Mugen and Jin's table. Having followed the steps' owner since detection, both Mugen and Jin now find themselves looking at a large man about six feet tall. His hair and eyes are dark, just as all Japanese's are, and his wide face bears a disgruntled look. A scar lines his right arm from wrist to elbow, obscuring otherwise nearly-tan skin. The clothing he wears is quite plain in appearance, somewhat constrasting his obvious stature. A loose-fitting, dark gray haori˝ hangs around his thick torso, hanging above long pants of the same color. He plants his hand hard on the two ronin's table, glancing from one to the other with intrigue.

"Hey, dude," Mugen says irritably, "What's the deal?"

"Tell me, gentlemen. How long have you been in Fukui?"

Before Mugen can make a smart-ass comment, Jin steps in. "About one week. May I ask why?"

"As I'm sure you've both heard, there has been a killer stalking these lands recently."

"Of course," Jin counters.

"Were you aware that he was killed yesterday?"

There is silence for a moment as the intelligent samurai contemplates the best answer.

"What if we were? What the hell's your point, huh?" Mugen blurts without warning. The man's face contorts to one of anger and annoyance. He steps back, standing up to his full height.

"Someone implicated you two as leaving the scene of his murder. Now...what the hell did you say to me?" The man turns and waves his hand in the direction of the hidden room. Instantly, two men emerge and make their way to the table, flanking the larger man on both sides.

"What, you can't hear?"

"I don't like your attitude! I am an official of this domain, and I will not stand for this."

"Well, I don't like your face. Leave us the hell alone."

Jin puts a hand to his temple, sighing in exasperation. He knows full well what is about to come next. Mugen's comment is the last straw; one of the official's subordinates hands him a sword. He draws it from its sheath, pointing it at Mugen.

"Would you like to reconsider?"

Mugen smirks. "When someone talks to me like that, it kinda pisses me off and I just feel like saying it even more."

His face quickly reddening, the official draws his arm back and swings at Mugen, who expertly—and effortlessly—moves almost faster than the eye can see, leaning to the right and drawing his sword, holding it with the blade pointing down to parry the man's strike. Already knowing when to prepare to bail, Jin slides his swords into his belt as Mugen throws off the man's strike, swiping in the same motion to cut through his clothes. The official stumbles back in surprise, but quickly regains his composure, signaling to his two subordinates. One draws his own sword; the other turns on his heel and rushes out of the inn.

"Mugen," Jin says expectantly.

"Yeah, I know!"

The official swings again, this time a downward strike. Mugen cartwheels out of the way, rolling to the side and swinging. A good chunk of the man's hair flutters to the floor; by the time it lands, both samurai have easily sped around the dazed official. Jin dodges the quite unprofessional stab of the subordinate and knocks him back without drawing his sword, stepping on the dull edge of the blade now lying on the floor and sweeping it out of the way. Before either can recover, Mugen and Jin have circled the tables, hustling past confused and interested customers, and made their way out of the restaurant.

"There they are!" a voice shouts. Both turn to see six more of the regional police charging at them. Mugen takes the initiative, hopping forward as the men near him, then speeding into the center of their ranks. He plants his hand and leaves his feet, spinning wildly. His steel-bottomed geta take out four in the course of the artistic whirl, and as he comes out of it, he swings his leg one last time, knocking another over before head-butting the remaining one to the ground.

With a neat back-roll, he returns to his starting position and flashes a cocky grin at Jin.

"Why do you always feel it's neccessary to stir up trouble?" Agitation shows through in his calm voice.

"I can't help myself. Guys like that just put a bug up my ass."

Jin's eyes flit to the side, down the path that the policemen had come from, then in the other direction, down the path that it would be wise to take. "We had better depart before more of them catch up to us," he says stoically.

"Yeah," Mugen agrees.

Both men smile at the amusing relation of the moment to their great days of adventuring, then turn and jog down the opposite path, two admirable figures eventually disappearing into the night.

—§∞§∞∞∞∞§∞§—

The soothing mist from earlier in the day has vanished, content with being replaced by the ever-consuming veil of the night's darkness. No breezes waft through the crisp air, and silence reigns in the absense of the rustle of trees. Amazingly, though night has fallen, it has warmed the slightest bit outside. The night is beautiful on all accounts.

Slowly, a crescendo of scrapes approaches a dark, deserted fork in the path.

The out-of-place noises cease when Mugen and Jin pull up, stopping suddenly at the fork. One path leads southwest; the other, northeast. Neither has contemplated exactly what they would do after their dinner was finished. An air of confusion stands between them. They glance down both paths, leading in opposite directions, then to each other with serious grins.

"Just like last time, eh?" Mugen quips.

"Yes..."

They stand at rest for a moment, each contemplating what to say. Jin's sharp mind begins calculating once more.

"Well, it was f—" Mugen begins.

"After what has happened here, I don't believe it would be wise for us to part ways at the moment," Jin notes.

Ignoring the fact that he has just been interrupted, quite a rare occurance, Mugen's smile widens.

"Really?"

"Apart, it is much easier for one of us to wander into a region where we might be recognized."

Mugen ponders this for a moment. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Where should we go?"

"The smartest thing to do would most likely be to return to Edo. We could easily blend in there until they forget our faces."

"Sweet. We're heading this way, right?" Mugen asks, pointing down the southwest path.

"No...actually, it's that way," Jin replies, indicating the opposite path, heading northeast,

"Whatever."

Jin smiles, and they depart once more down the correct path, hoping to make their way towards Edo. It is a return to the great times they had. Nothing needs to be said as they speed towards another far-off destination.

The moon hangs serenely above, happily illuminating all below it.

ふっかつ の きおく

つづけ

* * *

ª Tawaraya Sōtatsu was an early 1600s Japanese artist, co-founder of the Rimpa School of Japanese painting. He popularized a technique called _tarashikomi_, which was carried out by dropping one color onto another while the first was still wet. 

º I'll admit that I could not find a single article comparing the _mon_ system of Japanese money (shu, bu and ryō) to yen or even to U.S. dollars, so I don't know if four shu for a few bowls of tempura and a glass of tea is accurate or not, but it sounded good. You'll have to forgive me.

˝ A haori is a traditional Japanese silk jacket. It makes sense that he would have one, considering that, as an official, he could afford to buy one (though he most likely never gets the money through honorable means) and the climate is about right for a jacket.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm still not sure about my chapter lengths, but if this is too long or short for you, bear with me. I still have to figure the entire thing as a whole out. I really appreciate how great you all have been reviewing the first two chapters, so keep that up and let me know what you think of this one. There's little action and nothing really seems to happen...until the end...because I was aiming to make this a development chapter, showing a few things about Mugen and Jin's relationship after they reconciled before the crossroads but still depicting them as nearly the same people they were. You'll get more of that later on. Hopefully all the things I tried to emphasize, like the atmosphere of the Taro no In or some of their actions or what I just mentioned were noticed and you all apreciated it. If not...that's what reviews are for. 

If any of you noticed, the fight scene and the small dialogue afterwards were nearly identical to the one in episode 6, where they're concealing Jouji and Mugen picks a fight. That was intentional. Talk about nostalgia, haha. Also, at the end (the fork), I tried to make it obvious that both were hiding the fact that they were happy (even though that's really not the right word) to be in cahoots again.

So please review, and I really hoped that above all, you enjoyed reading it.

I'll try to update with more frequency. Thank you again.

**LL**


	4. Hymns of the Heartbroken

Reviews have dropped, but I'm content because general consensus is that this a good story that stays true to the characters and the feel of Champloo. Nothing makes me happier than hearing that. I still want you to review, but for now, I present Track 3 for your enjoyment. Also, I suggest that you listen to **Genome **from the Music Record Katana soundtrack while you read, at least for the first section of the chapter, and perhaps **Night Out**, **Sneak Chamber **or **YOU** for the last section, whichever is your preference. Read ahead:

* * *

**豊かな無秩序**

**Affluent Anarchy / Track 3: Hymns of the Heartbroken  
**

* * *

In the stifling mists of early dawn, loud clanks and the clashes of metal against metal echo throughout an empty field. Animals of nature scatter with each reverberating blow, fleeing to safety after having woken to a ferocious battle. Grass rustles in the absence of wind, a soft shuffling lifting above the continuous collisions. 

Mugen's loose red tunic flutters as he back-flips away from a side-slash, never ceasing its motion as he lands and springs forward, bringing his sword upwards in a vertical slash. The blade is parried and knocked back; the opponent leaps into Mugen with a well-timed stab. The Ryukan flips the blade in his hand and whirls, dancing around the sword flying past his back. With his turned sword, he throws his momentum completely into the spin and jerks his arm out. It cuts into the man's shoulder, eliciting a pained grunt. He steps back, glaring angrily at the smirk that has landed on Mugen's face.

The field is a sea of green, with lush patches of ankle-high grass spanning it as far as the eye can see until it meets the forest's border. The place is lit brightly, yet softly, by the rays of the rising sun, mere moments away from clearing the horizon. The sunlight blends with the mist above the battlefield, causing the entire scene to look as though it is taken straight out of a painting. Four men are spaced evenly on the grass, forming an imperfect square as one duo stares down another. Mugen and Jin stand at attention several feet from each other, their clothes hanging limp in the windless morning. The glares of the two men across the way bore into them, drawing attention to otherwise unremarkable appearances. The pair stand in stark contrast to the simply beautiful morning and all of its bright colors, both donning outfits consisting entirely of black: two dark gis combined with matching pants and and loose, draping head-covers with cloths to cover the face.ª

The stalemate is only momentary; in a flash, the entire square is in motion again.

As beautifully as any work of art, Jin brings his sword up to knock away the swing of his opponent, faking a jab step to the right while whirling to the left, his sword slicing up and into the torso of the man, blood spraying out perfectly.

"Who sent you?" he inquires without emotion as the man staggers backwards.

"As if you had to ask."

As good a confirmation as any that it is the government's work. Jin, having never ceased his motion, takes the initiative in his cold, composed manner and swings downward, another cut etching itself into the one fighting him. Finally, ensuring the end of the fight, the expert ronin raises his blade to eye level and stabs forth; as the heartless steel exits from the back of the victim, the painting is complete. The perfect fluidity of the kill has become a work of art far superior to any creation of parchment and color.

As if on cue, not to be outdone, Mugen displays his flair, backflipping to avoid a downward chop. His movements too fast for the man to counter, he leaps back into him with a kick, the steel-bottomed geta knocking the opponent backwards and to the ground. Slightly more intelligent than his comrade was, the man sticks his sword straight into the air as Mugen sweeps in for the kill, nearly successful in outwitting the Ryukyuan. However, in typical fashion, the airborne Mugen contorts his body at the last moment, moving just enough to land away from the pointed tool of death; he rolls backwards and stands, the grin on his face spreading, before diving in once more. Meeting the man just as he stands, he delivers an expert sweeping kick, and the opponent is knocked off of his feet.

The blade is impaled through his chest before he can hit the ground.

—§∞§∞∞∞∞§∞§—

Wiping his brow with a slight sigh, the Ryukyuan steps back, a smirk crossing his face as he looks to Jin. The bodies of the assailants lay strewn out before the pair, sent to their eternal sleep in retribution for ever making the mistake of crossing the two. Taking their momentary rest, the pair stand silent for a slight while longer before sheathing their blades, turning on their heels and departing, still heading further northeast, to Edo.

"I guess they ain't forgotten," Mugen says with an aloof tone to his voice, his hands clasped behind his head as he strolls.

Jin's face contorts, but his eyes do not leave the path. "Apparently not."

"Whatcha say we do?"

A moment of quiet thought is taken, though one is not needed. Jin speaks out softly.

"We should continue heading for Edo together,"

"Yeah, but we're gonna need money."

At last, Jin turns his gaze upon Mugen. "I concur. Fortunately, I have heard that a mercenary guild makes its home two towns over. Perhaps we should integrate ourselves with them for the time being and acquire sufficient funds to—"

"Aiite, aiite, I get it. We take some jobs for money, agreed?"

With a smile, Jin nods, his eyes returning to the road. As the pair continues on, the silent understanding between them growing stronger with each passing minute, the dawn completes its job and yields to the day, allowing them to make their way with the sun rising before them.

—§∞§∞∞∞∞§∞§—

のち で 8 にち

Eight Days Later

"Hey, you two newcomers, we finally got a job for you!"

"Heh, sweet!"

The thin paper hangings decorating the front door of the guild's headquarters fluttered in the light wind, regulating the coming and going of filtered sunlight. The interior was oddly resemblant of a simple restaurant, with raised floors on either side covered with mats and a nice walkway down the middle leading to the back room. The oddly unassuming appearance was no more than false advertising, as the chaos within was unrivaled.

Only on their second day within the ranks, the two had received a job. Quick work, one could say of the guild. Both men accepted it after receiving their orders with little to say and little to do before departing. They would be leaving as soon as their pockets were sufficiently full, after all. Useless conversation with the other mercenaries was pointless.

On the outskirts of the town, Jin reaches calmly into his gi and removes a folded piece of paper outlining in kanji what they would need to do, when, and for how much.

_The residents in a town just outside of Kyoto have complained of warriors from the forests harassing them continuously, at times even killing a few. It is odd that the regional government does not interfere, but regardless, first verify the claim and, if it turns out to be true, satisfy their needs._

_They have agreed to pay 3 ryo up front and you will receive 1 ryo from us upon completion._

Sweet and to the point. Needless to say, Mugen thoroughly enjoys the way the leader does business.

"So we're headin' to Kyoto?"

"Apparently," Jin responds quietly.

Not once do the two stop to consider the ramifications; only the money.

—§∞§∞∞∞∞§∞§—

のち で 19 にち

Nineteen Days Later

In the stifling quiet of the late night, loud clanks and the clashes of metal against metal echo throughout an empty forest clearing. Animals of nature scatter with each reverberating blow, fleeing to safety, quickly falling into slumber to avoid a ferocious battle. Grass rustles even in the absence of wind, a soft shuffling lifting above the continuous collisions.

Even when outnumbered two to one, Mugen and Jin's composures are astounding, their skills absolute, their minds blank. As Mugen's unique blade passes through a man's gut to meet him from the front of his stomach, Jin does him one better with a perfected slash, his own katana cutting into the abdomen of his adversary. The process repeats for several minutes until all who were originally involved lay dead save for two—Mugen and Jin themselves. Too easy, it was.

Later, with their pockets two ryo heavier, the men swiftly complete their business with the townspeople and depart, their feet moving continuously as they have been for the last month or two now. In their minds, it is a return to the life that they deserve, that they belong to—they always have and always will, with exception to that brief amount of time they spent in the company of one, and at times two, unique and amazing women.

Their feet clap against the path back to the east gently as they walk, both rather unaffected in their appearance.

"Before we make the return trip, I feel it best to pay some respects," Jin voices quietly, a proposal which Mugen only considers fleetingly before reluctantly agreeing.

"Suit yourself."

In his mind, it is more than likely another of Jin's stops to apologize to the many people in his life whose misery he feels responsible for. The slight change in Jin's expression, the first in quite a few days, signals that he realizes Mugen's thoughts. The pang of pity, sadness and resignation that crosses his face indicate that he knows all too well that the Ryukyuan is fooling himself without thinking.

The silence of the night presses deeper upon them as they continue to the bank of a small river. The water, rushing at a slightly halted, content pace, is as clear as ever, though in the darkness one can not distinguish the azure hue. Soft grass lines the banks, swaying in the breeze, basking in the moonlight streaming from above. Trees, standing further back, rustle slightly as well, a soothing chorus of nature's movements accompanying the beautiful scene by the river. Mugen brings himself to a halt near the bank, sticking out his bottom lip and letting his left arm fall onto his hip, his stance a clear notice of his impatience. Jin's sad stare calls once more from over his shoulder before he kneels where the grass gives way to several randomly aligned gray stones, in front of a small tombstone positioned in their center. He clasps his hands for a moment, allowing his eyes to close in silent prayer. The world comes to a halt for the slightest moment as he silently says his thanks and apologies.

When he stands, the expression he directs to Mugen cannot be described.

"Are you done?"

"Yes. But I feel it best if you would say some things as well."

Mugen's eyebrow raises in a mix of intrigue and annoyance. It doesn't make sense to him why he would need to pay any respects at the grave of someone he hardly knew.

Jin steps aside, the sorrow in his eyes building, indicating for Mugen to move forward.

As carefree and unthinking as he often is, it is not a surprise that Mugen has forgotten; but after a few moments, he begins to piece things together and...he remembers.

The Ryukyuan steps forward slowly, one foot after the other, before he finds himself standing above the unfeeling gray slate of stone. His face clenches, his hands draw into fists, and he begins to visibly shake.

"We...we buried her here..."

"Mugen..." Jin whispers, his hand rising to fall steadily on the man's shoulder. It is an action that can only be fostered with time and friendship, the manifestation of the bond between them. Mugen does not turn; their eyes do not meet. The breeze ceases as they stand still for a time. Then the ronin removes his hand and turns. "I will leave you now, to wait on the other side."

Mugen's mouth opens, yet says nothing, as he is finally brought to his knees, this one sight drawing forth a side of him that one should never contemplate could exist, nor expect to see. His eyes close until they are nearly shut as he slumps forward, gazing at the grave marker and the stones surrounding it.

"Sara..."

The first of many raindrops falls from the sky, pittering against his hand. It quickly increases from a drizzle to a steady rain, and then to a downpour, as he sits at her graveside for minutes on end, memories of the only woman that ever had the chance to capture his heart returning anew. For the first time in many long years, he feels remorse, remembering her death by his hands and his foolish realization just too late of why, and how it could have been prevented. For the first time he can ever recall, he feels longing, remembering how her blind gaze pierced him and how her naked body shined in the moonlight, just that one night in the onsen.

Mugen temporarily loses _himself_, finding himself, without warning, at the site where they laid a dear friend and hated enemy to rest, a woman who in her life and in her death caused the deepest complexities of his character to rise to the surface. That complex character, his usual persona and his buried feelings are all suddenly caught within the confluence.

A sense of regret stirs within him as he remembers, and he is suddenly overcome by emotion.

Just as he did one year ago, Mugen screams into the rain, his voice full of sorrow, and throws his sword into the crevice beside the grave; the metallic clash rings out into the hillside, eventually dying out within the unceasing downpour.

ひたん に くれ た の の さんび か

つづけ

* * *

ªThink Yukimaru.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm being honest with you guys—I really would like to get these chapters out more. I lost inspiration for quite a while, but it suddenly returned to me, so maybe I'll update this with more frequency from now on. 

This chapter was a bit different, I know. The action was more indirect, there were time skips, and I never focused too long on any single thing. That was intentional, though, as I was trying to convey a unique feeling through this scene. As you all know, Champloo itself had episodes that were self-contained stories, and so will this story, which is why it begun and ended as it did. I hope you all enjoy, and I must say this: I apologize to you all for taking so long to update.

Review if you can, and I promise I won't take nearly as long to update next time.

**LL**


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